


Diverge

by MissJewelry373



Series: Probably Never Going To Be Finished [3]
Category: Terminator (Movies)
Genre: Drabbles, F/M, Other, Some funny some not, eventual Sarah/T-800, human/machine relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-01-15 07:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12316920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissJewelry373/pseuds/MissJewelry373
Summary: In which Sarah saves her son the grief of losing yet another father figure. 'Uncle Bob' survives the steel mill and the three of them attempt to carry on like a functioning dysfunctional family. AU drabble/oneshot series. Eventual Sarah/T-800.





	1. Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Terminator.

She couldn't do it.

She should have; it was the most logical choice given their situation, and things would only be more difficult for them from here on out. But the look on John's face, seeing her son so heartbroken and distraught...she couldn't bring herself to. She couldn't kill the machine.

And so they left, stole the first car they found and sped away from that awful place, away from the steel mill and the carnage and the trauma. And now here they were, driving down a near-abandoned highway in the middle of the night on the way to nowhere. This was the end of their adventure.

Sarah Connor looked away from the road and up at her rearview mirror, sparing a glance at her son.

He was fast-asleep against the Machine's shoulder in the backseat, completely oblivious to its busy movements as it worked to reattach its arm. She still didn't quite trust the thing. But it had protected her son, so she guessed she owed it at least that much. And now that she had saved it, decided to spare it for John, she would have no choice but to trust that it would continue to do just that; protect him.

The Machine paused to meet her gaze and she hastily shifted her attention back to the road, gripping the steering wheel tighter. She applied more pressure to the gas pedal, suddenly impatient to cross the state border.

No. This wasn't the end, she decided.

Not for her, not for her son.

This was a new beginning.


	2. Bitter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve got about six of these little drabbles already written, and about twenty or so more ideas for more. I may actually find it in myself to update this thing regularly, but we’ll see. In any case, I hope you enjoy them if you bothered to click.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Terminator.

“You should have left me at the steel mill.”

It wasn't regret or remorse; it was fact.

She stopped washing her hands in the sink to stare back at the Machine seated at the edge of the bed in the room behind her, gaze hardening. They had stopped at an inn halfway across the Arizona border about an hour ago, and with John asleep again, she and it were the only ones still awake. Still conscious. Aware. She doubted if Terminators could ever truly be 'awake'.

She looked back down at her hands and turned the tap off, lips pursed as she reached for the nearest towel. “I know.”  

It responded as though it had been thinking it over – _calculating_ \- for some time. “Then why didn't you?”  

Irritation spiked inside her, and she heaved a long sigh before replying. “Because John would have never forgiven me if I did.”  

“So you chose to cater to your son's feelings rather than his wellbeing?”  

She didn't answer. She knew what the Machine was getting at; she had taken the easy way out and chosen to spare John's feelings rather than do what needed to be done. For all she knew, she had just singlehandedly destroyed the future she had cut out for him, totally blown his chances of becoming the cherished leader of a rebellion. But she had made her decision. And there was no changing it now.

She halfheartedly threw down the towel and switched off the light to the tiny motel bathroom, stalking up to the bed and climbing in next to her sleeping son. The Machine turned its head towards her once she'd settled under the covers, and she resisted the urge to try and kick it off the end of the bed.

“I hope you are prepared to accept the consequences of what you have done. As long as I am still functional, I pose a threat to you all.”  

She knew it was just a machine, incapable of feeling, but she could have sworn that she heard a hint of emotion in its voice, and there was only one word to describe it; bitter.


	3. Heal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Terminator.

They were parked at a rest stop when she finally got the courage to ask the question that had been nagging her mind for the past eighteen hours.  

“Will your... _skin_ , grow back?”  

The Machine turned to her, and she _had_ to be sleep-deprived because she swore up and down that it looked surprised.  

“It is made of regular human tissue, with regenerative cells. It will heal over time.”  

She said nothing, merely 'hmm'd in response, and turned her head to squint towards the restroom where John would be coming out at any time.  

It was a somewhat silly thought, but the Machine's words had struck a chord within her. She couldn't help but think of her son, and of how she had neglected him for years on end and practically estranged herself from him, and how heartbreaking and truly sad that was. But maybe there was still hope.  

After all, she thought. If a _machine_ could heal, maybe she and her son could, too.


	4. Healthy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Teminator.

They were at a gas station in Connecticut.  
   
Sarah stood at the counter, digging through her pocket for anything she could use to pay the cashier with. Anything but a card. She had sworn to use only cash since leaving L.A, and though they were low on gas and even lower on food, she wasn't about to break that rule. She wouldn't allow herself to be tracked down so easily.  
   
John and the machine were in the back, roaming the aisles of chips and beer and candy. She could hear her son rummaging through the plastic packages, crunching and wrinkling them in the most annoying way possible. She swore he was doing it on purpose.  
   
“Sarah Connor.”  
   
She turned around, hand frozen in her pocket.  
   
The machine had various items stacked in its arms, ranging from Twinkies to Doritos to sour gummy worms. It and John stood before her, the latter having a hopeful look on his face.  
   
“John Connor would like to know if we can purchase these items.”  
   
She grunted, exasperated. “John, no. We can barely afford to pay for gas, I can't-”  
   
“Aww, come on, it's only a few things,” John argued. “What's it gonna hurt?”  
   
Sarah pursed her lips, deciding. “...You can buy _one_.” She held up one finger to illustrate her point, and John's face bloomed into a wide smile as he happily hurried to choose between the items he had gathered. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes as he chattered away at the machine.  
   
“Okay, which one should we get?”  
   
“I cannot offer a reliable opinion on food items, as I have no functioning taste buds.”  
   
John scoffed. “Pfft. Oh please, don't gimme that. You must think one of these is better than the other. Here, what about these?”  
   
A long pause ensued as Sarah listened intently.  
   
“You should not buy these. They are unhealthy.”  
   
Her son sighed, and the sound of wrinkling plastic could be heard as he put the item away.  
   
“Okay...what about these?”  
   
“They contain high amounts of high fructose corn syrup, MSG, and artificial flavors. I do not recommend this purchase.”  
   
“These?”  
   
“Aspartame.”  
   
“These?”  
   
“Sucralose.”  
   
“These?”  
   
“...They are suitable.”  
   
“Alright! Here, mom, get these.”  
   
Sarah jolted when John ran up and excitedly slammed his package of choice onto the counter, scoffing when she saw what it was. _Gummy bears? Seriously?_ _Those_ were the best choice out of everything here? Resisting the urge to shake her head, she counted out the money she owed and handed it to the cashier.  
   
However silly she thought it may be to monitor their food consumption (after all, they had much bigger things to be worrying about) she could say one thing; at least John would be eating healthy.


	5. Swim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Terminator.

They stopped at a lake halfway into their journey to go for a swim and take a breather.  
   
The air-conditioning in the car had gone out a few days before, and they were all suffering from the heat. Even the Machine seemed to be having trouble with the temperature, and Sarah and John both could hear the audible sound of fans whirring somewhere inside its metal body.  
   
Sarah closed her eyes and sighed as she slipped her bare feet into the water, legs dangling over the edge of the ground on which she sat. She had been able to appreciate the relief the cool liquid provided for about two seconds before John jumped past her and cannonballed into the lake, soaking her clothes and hair. She opened her mouth to scold him, but upon seeing his happy face and delighted expression, decided on just the opposite.  
   
She pushed herself the rest of the way into the lake, not caring in the least that her only pair of clothes were sopping wet, and playfully splashed her son. He all too eagerly returned the gesture, and before either of them knew it, a sort of splashing war ensued. They had somehow wandered farther out into the lake, and by the time they had both grown tired of splashing each other, Sarah realized that they were missing one member of their party.  
   
The T-800 stood at the edge of the lake, where she had been sitting. Its head was angled down, and for a moment she thought something had happened to cause it to malfunction or power down. But as she continued to stare, she realized that it was simply observing the water. Probably scanning it for information; depth, marine life, location, purity. Small, insignificant things that, for all she knew, would save their lives one day.  
   
John announced that he was swimming further out, and Sarah idly acknowledged him. She waded closer to the Machine, and it was only after stopping a few yards away from where it stood that she realized it wasn't observing; it was deciding.  
   
“Thinking of going for a swim?”  
   
It didn't acknowledge her right away, just continued to stare into the water. “The act of swimming is not currently present in my programming.”  
   
She sighed through her mouth, sorry she even asked. She had to say, she was getting pretty damn tired of the way the big hunk of metal constantly made even the most lighthearted moments nothing more than a deadpan. Then again, it was a machine.  
   
A long silence followed, and she eventually turned away to look for John's shrinking figure. Upon spotting him, she turned back one last time to offer an invitation to join the festivities she and her son were enjoying; it may have been nothing but a bunch of nuts and bolts, but it deserved to at least be included for saving John's life.  
   
“You know, I'm sure you'd get a nice cool-down from the heat if you just dipped your feet in the water or something.”  
   
Her suggestion was met with more silence, and she eventually decided to stop wasting her time with a damned robot and rejoin her son. She began to swim away, eager to get back to John, when the Machine spoke again.  
   
“...Very well. But tell John to stay close. He is wandering too far off.”  
   
She called after John and shook her head and sighed, pulling the corner of her mouth in for a half-smile.

Hell. Maybe this thing could work out after all.


	6. Road Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Terminator.

They were driving through the busy streets of Chicago when John proposed they play a game.  
   
Sarah, admittedly being bored out of her mind and hating the fact that she was stuck in the middle of a traffic jam in the blazing heat with no air conditioning and zero food in her stomach, voiced no argument as she hastily agreed.  
   
"Alright, what are we gonna play?" She asked, one hand on the steering wheel as the other cradled her sweat-ridden forehead.  
   
"I dunno," John shrugged. "A car game, I guess."   
   
She silently nodded her agreement, sighing as she tried to mentally distance herself from the never-ending sound of car horns and angry drivers.  
   
The T-800, however, seemed a bit more than confused at John's choice of a game.  
   
“'Car game'?”  
   
“Yeah, you know," her son explained. "A game you play in the car to pass the time?”  
   
The Machine stayed silent, seeming to process this information and catalog it away for further use. John effortlessly went on.  
   
“Anyway, I've got one. First person to spot a...” He paused to think for a moment. “White car,” he decided. “Gets a point. We'll keep going until we get bored.”  
   
“What model?” The machine asked.  
   
“Doesn't matter. As long as it's a white car, it counts.”  
   
There was a moment of silence before the Machine acknowledged the boy's words. “Very well. I detect a white 1986 Rover 800 series three paces ahead of us.”  
   
Sarah's eyebrows rose beneath her sunglasses; she almost felt the need to point out that using advanced X-Ray vision for something as simple as a car game was cheating, but she realized that that would be the equivalent of asking a fish to breath out of water, and really, it was far too amusing to watch the Machine try and appease the boredom of her ten-year-old son. And besides, it seemed to be able to get the gist of it rather quickly. Maybe this could prove to be a fun game.  
   
“Dangit! Okay, you get a point. Your turn.”  
   
“Very well. The first person to spot a 1975 blue Ford vehicle will be victorious.”  
   
“...”  
   
"..."  
   
"..."  
   
Or maybe not.  
 


	7. Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The Terminator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been wanting to get back to these for FOREVER. I’ve finally got the next chapter written, don’t ask me why it took so long because even I don’t know. Just hit a bit of a roadblock with this one, I guess. It’s a lot longer than I intended but hopefully still good and flows with the rest. 
> 
> Anyways, thank you to everyone who’s reading and/or following, glad to know there are other classic Terminator fans out there who read fics like mine :)

They settled in Indiana when she had decided they’d gone far enough, living out of their stolen car until Sarah landed a job.

She ended up working as a waitress at a dead-end restaurant nobody knew the name of but was constantly busy due to tourists stopping in from a long day’s travels. John had enrolled in the local school a few minutes away, and it made Sarah happy that he could have some semblance of normalcy back in his life after what he’d gone through. They were currently living at a motel, but she was slowly acquiring savings for a decent apartment. It would be some time before they could afford an actual house, but one was definitely in her plans for the future and she longed to have a more permanent residence for herself and John. 

Sarah grunted as she burst through the door to their motel room, irritation flaring as it always did when she came back from work. She would never get used to the damn door sticking every time she tried to open the goddamned thing, but she comforted herself with the fact that she wouldn’t have to put up with it much longer; she was already speaking to a landlord about securing a recently opened apartment space. 

“I’m home. Sorry I’m late.” She said, setting some groceries down onto the very small table beside their bed.

The sound of the droning tv and rustling plastic annoyed her to no end, but again, she told herself it would get better once they upgraded to an apartment. More space meant more happiness for all of them; this was only temporary. She glanced over at the Machine, who, though by no means human, even seemed to be annoyed with the cramped space.

 _There is not enough room in here_ , she remembered it telling her when they got to their room. _It will be difficult to protect John should we be attacked._  

She knew she was just imagining things, but she swore it sounded as though it were peeved by her choice of residence. Since booking the room, the Machine did little. It hardly spoke, hardly even moved, and she was beginning to wonder if maybe she’d broken it somehow when it did nothing but stay in the corner. The glowing eyes surveyed the room every so many minutes, so they knew it wasn’t fried, and after it happened so often, both she and John almost forgot it was there.

 _Maybe we should get him outside_ , John had suggested. _Maybe he’s solar-powered and needs some sun._

Though she had to admit, it did make sense, Sarah couldn’t bring herself to oblige. The Machine’s outer layers were still repairing, and they couldn’t risk letting him be seen by passersby. The _last_ thing they needed was more cops. 

But today was different.

The Machine was visibly awake, sitting on the lumpy motel bed with John watching cartoons. The ‘skin’ around its face and neck were back, she’d noticed, and to her bafflement an entirely new hand sat in place of the metal stump it’d been sporting for the past few months.

_How did...?_

But at this point, she wasn’t even going to ask. 

“When did he wake up?” She nodded over to the T-800. 

John quirked an eyebrow at her calling the death robot a ‘he’ - it was always either an ‘It’ or ‘the Machine’ - but didn’t question it as he answered his mother. “About an hour after you left. I asked him what his deal was and I guess he was just in some kind of repair mode. We went outside for a bit and switched on the tv.”

She reigned in her anger at him admitting that he’d taken him- _it_ , outside without her permission, but she realized that he was his own person and would do whatever he wanted. She hadn’t been there for him most of his life, and if she wanted to win him back, patience was key.

“Oh. ...What are you guys watching?” She asked, diverting her attention to the tiny motel tv on the nightstand. 

“Transformers.” They replied simultaneously, though John seemed far less interested.

 _How ironic_ , she thought.

Her son threw himself backwards and flopped down onto the bed, though with the Machine’s weight he didn’t bounce much.

“Did you get anything good to eat?” He asked with a bored expression. 

“Uh, yeah, here.”

She dug through one of the bags and pulled out a pack of pre-made brownies. John took the package happily and opened it up (but only _after_ the Machine had scanned and inspected it) munching away with joy.

 She watched as the two of them sat and stared at the tv screen, John with boredom and the Machine with what she could only guess was genuine interest. As she observed the scene before her, it occurred to her that the T-800 had probably never seen a cartoon, or watched a movie. And it was observing it so intensely, analyzing every frame and gaining knowledge, building new knowledge off of that knowledge and then storing that knowledge away. It even attempted to laugh when John laughed. 

 _Still building a sense of humor, I see_ , she thought.

And it was then that Sarah had a startling epiphany; it may have bore the appearance of a man, but really, the T-800 was nothing more than a child, learning the ways of the world just like John was.


	8. Useful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Terminator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter feels kinda ‘eh’ to me, but it’s really more of a filler chapter to get to where I wanna go. Either way, hope y’all like.
> 
> **Warning**: This chapter DOES have some F-bombs in it. I try to stay away from super bad language, but the Terminator movies *are* rated R and Sarah does curse, so I’m just trying to stay true to her character. So just a heads up.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has commented and given love to this Drabble series, but a special shoutout to MonsterInDaBerth; your comment was the one that inspired me to write this up and post ;)

The day Sarah was able to move them out of the Blue Dolphin Motel was music to her damn ears.

It started out like any other day - get up, get John breakfast, feed herself on the way to work, clock in - and she had assumed it would end like any other. But she came home from work only to find John alone in their tiny room, no machine to be found.

Anger surged through her. “Where the _hell_ is he?”

John raised his eyebrows at her, mouth hanging open rather comically, but came up short on an explanation. Sarah’s eyes scanned the room, ready to punch the first hunk of metal she saw that resembled the machine, when suddenly the door creaked open behind them. She whirled around, eyes ablaze with anger. She opened her mouth to prepare a verbal onslaught, but the machine beat her to it.

“Sarah Connor, you are back early.”

She huffed like an ox, a short, angry exhale through her nose. “ _Yes_ I’m back early! And good fucking thing too, because _you_ sure as hell weren’t here!”

“I was gone approximately two hours and thirteen minutes. I am informing you that I now have a ‘job’.”

She blinked, fury halting. “You what?”

“I have acquired a laboring job at a construction site two miles from here. I start immediately, starting pay eighteen dollars an hour.”

Anger made way for shock, and Sarah could only stare.

“Yeah! Good job, I knew you could do it, uncle Bob!”

John’s chants of encouragement were static in the background to Sarah’s ears, and she was only just beginning to comprehend what this news meant for her, for all of them.

“Here,” the machine said, holding up a piece of paper for her to take.

“What’s this?” She asked, looking it over.

“A rental agreement. I have found us a more permanent living space approximately point-three miles from here.”

Sarah read through the paper more thoroughly this time, seeing that it was, indeed, a rental agreement. She wondered as to the legitimacy of the paper (she hoped to God he didn’t threaten anyone), but it seemed to be official. Tears pricked at her eyes, overwhelmed with joy. She had been working so long, _so_ long scrimping and saving every little bit she could, and this goddamn machine had just saved their asses from destitution. She owed this thing her fucking life.

“We move in tomorrow,” the machine said. “I also received a sign-on bonus, and was advised to take you out to celebrate. I will need suggestions for a proper location.”

“Let’s go for pizza!” John suggested. “I’m freakin’ sick of snack brownies.”

“Sarah Connor? Do you concur?”

Sarah lowered the rental agreement from her face, a little shell shocked but still happy. “Uh...yeah. Pizza sounds great.”

Uncle Bob nodded. “Very well, then. I will go and inform the owner we will be checking out tomorrow.”

“Yeah...good idea. John, get ready.”

“Way ahead of ya,” her son chirped as he enthusiastically began putting on his shoes and jacket.

As they left the motel for what would be the last night and headed out to Bob’s Pizza Shop (a town favorite, though ironically named), Sarah couldn’t help but be a little jealous. The machine did what she couldn’t, and in a fraction of the time. She’d been working her ass off for months and the machine just wandered outside for two hours (sorry, two hours and _thirteen_ _minutes_ ) after it finished repairing itself completely and landed them all a great place and itself a job with good pay. If it could keep itself working - and she had no doubt that it could - she could quit and focus more of her attention on John. They may never have to worry about anything financial ever again.

 _Fuck_ _me_ , she thought. As much as she hated to admit it, it turned out the machine was actually pretty damn useful.


End file.
